The Cadaverous Chorus
by Periphrastic Marshmallow
Summary: Sasori lives with the memory of his first partner, and Deidara won't, rather can't stand for it. It's simply too bad he has no say in the matter. SasoDei, implied OroSaso.


**Because the general SasoDei fandom needs to remember that Deidara wasn't Sasori's first ;D**

**I have a special place in my heart for OroSaso, after all, Sasori said it himself: 'The two of us did … many things together *chuckle*'. How else am I meant to interpret that? Hence this oneshot crept out of the darkness.**

**As a warning, this contains myth referencing, ghostly italic voices and implied mansexing. Just the way we like it. **

**Rated Teen as the mansexing is pretty vague.**

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It is their long hair that Sasori first equates. Shimmering tresses, flowing long past sculpted shoulders, and he tries hard not to remember whispered promises years long gone.

"_We truly will be a perfect pair, no?"_

"And I'm meant to be this thing's partner, yeah?"

Whilst he does not voice his disappointment at hearing his new companion speak, it gnaws at his wooden heart and shyly he misses one of the few men he ever respected.

Their hair is the same length, Sasori muses, but that is probably where the similarity ends.

The blonde boy speaks again, and the puppet has to keep his tail from lashing out. He deserves, _needs_ the very best in a partner, and this brat does not satisfy his requirements.

"Nice to work with you. Or something."

"… Whatever."

* * *

The second thing that Sasori notices between them is their long fingers, lithe, languorous digits of two artists. The first, an angelic monster who played instruments as though they were mere toys, yet loved them with a passion the puppeteer had never seen in another human. The second, a sculptor with wild eyes and wilder art, never in control yet ever enthusiastic about his work. Truth be told, he probably adored his art as much as the first.

"_I hope to continue with my art forever. Along with you, perhaps? Forever…"_

"My art is a brilliant, brief moment in time. You'll still be rotting long after it, yeah."

Sasori snorts and stares at Deidara from under his savage red fringe, hazel eyes begging the boy to turn into Orpheus.

When his silken hair stays blonde and his skin remains tanned, Sasori realises he is probably asking too much from a mere brat.

* * *

One day, Deidara turns to the person, rather, puppet he admires and there is a deep sorrow in his eyes. It has been two months since he donned his dark, clouded robes, and he cannot remember ever being _seen_.

"_Oh, Sasori-kun. Do stop staring, I am almost becoming self concious."_

"Who are you looking at when you look at me, Danna?! Me or _him_?"

Sasori detects no need to reply, apparently feeling that his silence is a clear enough answer. Even when the blonde youth stalks out of the room as a blazing fury, he sees it as no fault of his own. Rather, Deidara has no one but himself to blame for falling several miles short of alabaster perfection.

In the next room, Deidara _does_ blame himself and swears under misty breath that he and he alone will be the one to find that infernal man and bring the end of his life in an ironic flash. Maybe then, he thinks to himself, Sasori will be stop being blinded by his murky shadow.

* * *

It's the same, tired story when Sasori's sanded oak digits ghost over Deidara's trembling flesh in the half light. The scene is perfect, or at least it tries to be.

"_S-Sasori-kun, I-I'm not sure— ah…"_

The artist, though he tries as hard as he can to believe that it's him Sasori is fixated on, him that is being praised, he could swear, as his Danna moves against him that he can hear lusty moans from a throat that is not is own. They pervade him with a reality equivalent to the physical relationship he and Sasori are entertaining, and he prays that that voice isn't audible to his partner. He knows, however, that it is.

"_Nngh, Sasori, you k-know,"_ as the puppet twirls golden hair in his fingers, all he can hear is the past, _"I l- nngh… lo-"_

"D-Danna…!"

Later that night, when the sun has long since turned over in its bed, Deidara stays awake and finds himself searching the dark room for the ghost of a man still alive.

* * *

Whenever Sasori goes off to meet Kabuto in order to spy, 'keep tabs' as Sasori says, on his former partnerloverwhatever, the artist keeps to himself and wonders exactly what was so great about the man.

He seems to currently be in the habit of kidnapping children. 'What a great guy', Deidara mutters to himself, pointedly ignoring how glowing his qualities must be to outweigh his many, many chasmic pitfalls.

Looking in the mirror, blue eyes waver and wonder if they would be better off gold.

He wonders if sitting on this same bed, next to Sasori's, Orochimaru ever looked in the same mirror and smirked unendingly at his ethereal visage.

"_I simply do not know what I'd do without this mirror. It was a lovely present, Sasori. …Thank you."_

"_A small repayment for all the things you've done for me, love."_

"… "

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**Deidara has a pretty crazy imagination.  
**


End file.
